


Heat

by InadvertentlyRomantic



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, moopsy romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InadvertentlyRomantic/pseuds/InadvertentlyRomantic
Summary: The heat gets to John, Bear, and Harold.





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I know it is Christmas and it's cold as the dickens where I am. But I actually get to stay in Morocco for a week so I thought the sun and summer heat may be a nice change for anyone who's a little sick of the gray winter sky and the bazzillion layers of coats needed every time we wanna go anywhere outside. Enjoy!

Summer heat is not a rare thing in New York city. The heat wave comes around every year just as reliably as Christmas. It just isn’t welcomed, because heat can have tremendously negative effects on people. A touch of heat and people parade around the city in shorts and skirts and tank tops, and a heat wave like this just makes most people fuming with anger that they cannot walk around naked. John isn’t surprised that the heat gets to him, and Bear. They find themselves less inclined to go out and play in the park, or to enjoy their morning run past 8 am. And it shouldn’t surprise John, but it does, that the heat gets to Harold, too. One morning it gets so hot that John considers getting Harold an iced-tea to go along with his Vietnamese iced-coffee, but ultimately decides against it, that’s when he finds Harold in the library, typing furiously just as usual. Yet, there’s something different. Something’s missing. It takes John 30 seconds to realize that the missing thing is Harold’s tie. 

Harold Finch is NOT wearing a tie. It freaks John out a little, but if he’s honest with himself, he might admit that it turns him on so much, too. He half wants to ask if everything is OK, but then settles for “Good morning, Harold”, and hoping that Harold will let slip what’s going on. Harold greets him back, and is just about to delve back into whatever he has been working on, when he realizes John staring at him, at the sliver of skin between his throat and collarbone that the absence of his tie has exposed. Harold clears his throat awkwardly to catch John attention, and he is just about to explain to John that he is also human, and so is negatively affected by this abomination of a weather when John cuts into his thoughts with “You look nice, Finch. Summer seems to suit you.”  
Harold, shocked by that sincere comment, turns deep red. He doesn’t know what to make of John’s teasing anymore. Ever since he realizes his horrible, gigantic crush on his employee, he has tried to go out of his way to ignore and deny any flirty undertone in every teasing remark John sends his way. Caught up in these thoughts, he shakes his head dejectedly, then seems to catch himself and sobers up. He’s just about to take refuge in his computers and pretend that his heart didn’t flutter, his face didn’t heat up after hearing John says something nice to him, but John suddenly stops the wiggle of his chair, and with his hands on the chair’s two arms, effectively traps him into facing his employee, who is on his knees in front of him.

“You don’t believe me, Harold?”   
Harold licks his lip nervously, but replies resolutely “I believe that you mean to be polite and kind with that remark, but it’s not necessary. I can see how I look in the mirror, and while I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t help but disagree with it.”

“I don’t think we see the same thing when we look at you, Harold.” John says, a little too tenderly for it not to hurts somewhere in Harold’s chest. Harold doesn’t dare to look at John. He doesn’t dare to let the amber of hope in his heart flutter alive.   
“Please, John. Don’t.”   
“Don’t what, Harold?”, John asks challengingly. “Don’t tell you that I think you look nice? Or don’t think about that at all? ‘Cause I can stop saying it, but I can’t stop thinking about it, about you.”  
Harold looks up at John sharply, but John doesn’t miss a beat when he continues “I’ve been thinking about you every moment I am awake, and dreaming of you when I go to sleep. So, if you don’t want me to compliment you, I can do that. But I’m not sure I can stop admiring you or wanting you.” And with that, John callused hand ghosts the snowy white skin of Harold’s throat. A feather-light touch that sends shivers up Harold’s spine, before his hand comes down to rest lightly on Harold’s own.   
Suddenly and without warning, even to himself, something in Harold breaks. He searches John eyes in a desperate bid to detect any insincerity, any indication that John’s making a fool out of him. Finding none, he tentatively turns his hand so that he can lock into John’s grip. John immediately gets the message and holds his hand more tightly. He smiles at him as though he was the ice-cream to his summer days and says “I’ve told you what I want, Harold. What do you want?”   
“You, Mr. Reese.”   
And unlike the heat of summer, Harold gets to kiss Mr. Reese even when fall arrives, even when Christmas comes to town.


End file.
